


Kale

by travellinghopefully



Series: Jamie and Malcolm [9]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:33:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: Musings on Malcolm and Jamie having kids, why Jamie left, lots of banter and foxes. And in my head, Jamie and Malcolm play Scrabble very, very competitively.Rating is for later chapters.There is lots of dialogue - if its too confusing I may edit later - please let me know - thanks.





	

Foxes noses pressed against the glass – elbow to the ribs. 

“There are ways of attracting my attention that don’t require that.”

Hand sliding between his legs, rubbing small circles on the sensitive skin of his thigh, nudging higher and pulling away.  
“Better?”

“Much….now what was it?”

“They’re back!”

Regarding the foxes over the top of his glasses with practiced indifference.

“And?”

“Well, what leftovers do we have?”

“The fuckers eat better than we do. Don’t think I don’t know you gave them a steak.”

“Look!!!”

The foxes were captivating, but Malcolm was far more interested in encouraging Jamie into what he had been doing with his hand.

“They’ve got cubs….they are so sweet.”

“Ok, where’s Jamie and what have you done with him? I demand to know!”

Jamie’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Demand do you? Oh, you know how well that goes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kale! I am not eating fucking kale.”

“Gotta keep your sperm healthy.”

“My fucking sperm are fucking fine thank you. I didn’t hear you complaining last night, or this morning.”

“Well, if we are doing surrogacy…”

“Since when are we doing surrogacy?”

“Since my sister offered.”

“I am not fucking your sister.”

“No, you’re fucking not.”

There really was never a good time to try to talk to Malcolm, too tired, too wired, going out, coming in. Jamie ploughed on.

“Turkey baster all the way.”

“Yer fucking kidding me?”

“Yes, of course I am. Nice plastic specimen jar, antiseptic cubicle, truly filthy spank mags – which will be of no interest to you whatsoever and someone really expensive to do what a turkey baster would do for 50p and your own cock for free.”

“I am not fucking your sister.”

Trust Malc to stick to the most salient point, he’d try again later, maybe with costings, a spreadsheet and diagrams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“What are we celebrating?”

“Me being a house husband? Me being a kept man?”

“I’m not exactly sure that was the plan.”

Placing a kiss on the end of his nose.

“Too late now.”

Swaying a little closer in the hope of better kisses.

“Smug insufferable git – you’re going back to sleep when I go to work aren’t you.”

“No, I am going to get up every fucking day and make you eat a proper fucking nutritious fucking breakfast for fucking once. No more subsisting on the corpses of failed policies and any chocolate you can steal from blinky Ben’s bottom drawer.”

“You know what I need.”

“If you think that’s happening every morning, you’ll never make it into the office for 5 again.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. And I meant coffee, fucking black, fucking strong.”

“I prefer my idea.”

“Well, I am magnanimously prepared to listen to you outlining that proposal, preferably with practical demonstrations…..fucking work.”

“5 more years, yeah, and the rest of the master plan will kick into places.”

Raising his glass.

“To phase one of the plan.”

“Are you drinking whiskey.”

“Well, one dram to toast us, then joining you and drinking the Irn Bru.”

“Friday night, you, me, curry, could be Glasgow.”

“Better than Glasgow.”

“Wash yer mouth out ye Motherwell cunt.” 

“You, me, together, married, not dead, not dying, not lying bleeding in a gutter, with some fucking drunk pissing on us.”

“That was you.”

“That was once and I believe you agreed in 2008 you would stop mentioning it.”

Malcolm kissed him to shut him up, kissed him because he could, kissed him because he never thought either of them would be where they were now. All teeth and tongues and narrow misses to their noses, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. Their passion, their one constant.

“Eat now, time enough for that later. Impatient fucker.”

“Fucking impatient, aye. As for the fucking, long and deep and slow, every fucking time.”

Jamie’s eyes clouding, shaking his head.

“We have time….until your fucking phone rings. It won’t be the musketeers together. It’ll just be you running off on your own.”

“I think that makes me Richelieu.”

“If you grow a goatee, I’m fucking divorcing you.”

“That’s it, that’s the grounds?”

“Yer, fucking stubble is bad enough and your hair sprouts up like mushrooms after autumn rain.”

“Despite the poetry of that image and the potential for endless innuendo, I think you’re safe – until the 5 years are up, then, I’m growing everything long.”

“Oh yes, now there’s innuendo….why?”

“One…it will drive you wild and you know it, two..it’ll be an effective disguise, three….to embarrass the kids as much as humanly possible.”

“Kids, plural?”

“Don’t want any of that “only child” shite. We’re both from families that deserve a medal from the Pope. If we have less than two everyone will think we’ve bottled it.”

“What about the name shortlist?”

“If we stick with my plan they come with names already.”

“And you still seriously think anyone, anywhere would be mad enough to let the two of us adopt? Its not like the pound where they’re happy to palm off the ones that are a funny colour and have bits missing.”

“If I didn’t know you that would be the most isist, phobic sentence I have ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, you know what I fucking meant. They’re going to take one look at us and go – old, gay….NO!”

“We’re affluent, we’re healthy.”

“Speak for your fucking self.”

“That fucking MOT you made us both have – we’re in fucking amazing health.”

“Fucking amazing considering.”

Malcolm wiped the corner of his mouth with the heel of his hand.

“What?”

“That!”

“What?”

“You, with your hand."

Malcolm turned his hand over and looked at it.

“No, its just, you went you eat, all I can imagine is all the other things your mouth can do.”

“Like telling you you’re a daft fucking cunt….right, leftovers for the foxes and the washing up….then.”

“Despite my fondness for our furry ferals, is it safe to give them curry? And your continuing state of denial notwithstanding, we have a dishwasher – and, the most salient point is, we still have dessert.”

“Do you plan on keeping me on edge all night?”

“Well not the whole night, just most of it.”

Jamie emphasised his point, gripping him tightly, feeling him pulse against his hand. Sliding along the length of him, massaging him with his thumb, hearing him hiss as the fabric and zip bit against him.

“Dessert better be fucking amazing.”

“Oh it is, trust me. 3 minutes and we can have it on the sofa.”

“You’re already covered in poppadom crumbs, naan bread, pakoras, raita, mango chutney and what I presume is curry – fuck leftovers, we can probably put your shirt outside and it’ll feed the foxes for a month.”

Jamie stood and brushed the crumbs very deliberately onto the floor.

“That stuff stains, you are never getting it out.”

“Bet? Usual stakes?”

“Oh aye”

Eyebrow quirked to devastating effect. The only possible retaliation, his teeth along Malcolm’s jaw, sucking that one spot near his ear, biting the lobe hard enough to make him yelp.

“Aye.”

“That’s all very well.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he could remember his train of thought, could the fucker not just keep kissing him?

“….Aye…I still have to work in public, I can’t go in looking like your fucking chew toy.”

“I’m not letting any other fucker think there’s the possibility that you might stray.”

“We’re pack, fucking wolves, and still your fucking husband, loyal no matter what – save for your spectacular performance.”

“Pint pot fucking Judas? – where did that fucking come from?”

“We might have scripted it, but it lacked venom and you weren’t looking sufficiently hurt – you just looked like you were having fun.”

“If there’s not blood, everyone just thinks we’re fucking bantering…I still say I should have fucking punched you for a bit of verisimilitude.”

“One, we can’t afford the dental plan we’re already on, two there is no fucking way you are landing a punch on me, three, fucking “verisimilitude” – to fucking long to play in fucking Scrabble, which you are never, ever, going to win.”

“Double the bet.”

“Oh, aye?

“And, I believe the last time you went for broke ended up with you in a French maids outfit.”

“I think we still have the duster.”

“We did, its wrapped for Ollie’s secret Santa already.”

“Dessert?.... Do you feel cheated? Not getting the obligatory soapy tit wank farewell?"

"Well, tits have never been my thing. But you know I can think of plenty of ways you can make my ignominious departure up to me. 14 point that, by the way, and verisimilitude was 20."

"Let it fucking go."

**Author's Note:**

> As ever
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